


pink dreams

by immortalflowers



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Choi Jongho is Whipped, Choi Jongho-centric, Cute, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Jongho's parents Seongjoong, M/M, Sexual Content, Smoking, aro!Kang Yeosang, does this count as a coffee shop au?, implied Park Seonghwa/Kim Hongjoong - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26683249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortalflowers/pseuds/immortalflowers
Summary: Jongho sees everything through rose (or sometimes yellow and purple) tinted glasses, meeting Yeosang grants him a new outlook on life. He falls in love, fast, all strings attached.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60





	pink dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to preface this by saying that Yeosang's sexuality was half inspired by my own experience of aromanticism, but also by reading up about other ppl's on quora. So, if you don't feel the same as him, I just want you to know that you are valid. After all, we are all individuals and no two human beings experience their emotions in the same way.
> 
> additional warnings: there's a brief scene where Jongho thinks what they did was non-con, but everything they do is consensual and resolved after a few sentences, there is also a heavily implied age difference, it's not stated verbatim, but Yeosang is around 24, whereas Jongho is 20 going on 21 years old.  
> If you would like to skip the sex scene it starts after the purple square and ends with the sentence “That’s not Last Christmas” (...).
> 
> This was not beta read, or read AT ALL before posting, so if it's a bit rough around the edges, that's on me lol 
> 
> Please leave comments (and kudos)!! Especially about the dialogue, it feels kind of awkward to me, so I'd like to know what you think! Thank you for reading <3

Jongho leaves his apartment building and realizes that the world is pink.

The sky above him is a particular shade of magenta like someone colored it with his mother’s nail polish. The trees are more of a muted purple, but the flowers that came bearing the weight of spring a lovely blush pink. The asphalt around him is red, and the cars different shades of pink, and purple, and red.

It’s happened enough times now that Jongho doesn’t have the initial reaction of thinking he’s going insane, and rushing back to check his eyes in the mirror.

He didn’t take his roommate’s weird anime-RP contacts, and he’s not wearing Mingi’s pink-tinted sunglasses. 

It’s just a normal day, but pink.

Jongho passes by the café every Monday and Friday on his way to class. At 7 am the rising sun hits the window just so, and he’s only able to see the pretty boy working the counter, smiling at the sleep-deprived students and businessmen who are very obviously in a rush – rhythmically tapping their feet, looking at their watches as if the time will hurry only for them, only if they stare at it hard enough.

What a busy café. What a busy world.

The boy looks kind, but Jongho learned in his Intro to Social Psychology that we perceive _objectively_ beautiful people as both smarter and kinder than those less conventionally pretty.

Still. He is beautiful, there’s no denying it.

He is also decidedly _not_ in any shade of pink Jongho can see, just as normal as he can be in a world so disorderly, so not in its place.

Today his white hair is pushed back with a simple black headband, it’s slightly curly, and the dark of his natural hair color is coming in. His button-down shirt is a bit rumpled, but Jongho still thinks he’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

The ordinary colors seem jarring in the vast _pinkness_ of his surroundings. The pink cup he’s handing out to a mother with a small child in her grasp is at odds with the beige bracelets he’s wearing and his caramel skin. Likewise, his coworker’s bright purple hair and bubble gum complexion clash with his white hair and light brown attire.

Jongho decides not to wait anymore, decides he has to know his name, the way he gasps when being kissed, the way his eyes crinkle up or close in a laugh.

He is insatiable. He needs to know everything.

A deep breath in, a short breath out – the doors in front of him open, and the boy walks out.

 _There is no such thing as fate_ , Jongho thinks and looks him straight in the eye.

“Why do you always stare at me when passing the café?” he asks blunt and to the point, one of his arms crossed over his torso protectively, his hand reaching for something in the pocket of his apron.

The boy stands in front of him, and Jongho is reduced to nothingness in his presence. A shell with only a beating pulse in its throat. 

At a loss for words, because he simply didn’t realize he was quite so obvious, Jongho stammers: “I-I don’t.” His brain is a traitor, an imposter in place of a heart.

The boy puffs a disbelieving laugh. “You’re a very bad liar,” he says, finally pulling out whatever it was he was looking for – a pack of cigarettes – and shaking one out to place it between his teeth, “try something more original.” 

He nudges Jongho with the hand now cupped around his mouth rolling the spark wheel of the lighter. Jongho watches the fire come out of thin air. His bones sing magic.

“I’m Jongho,” he says instead, unable to hold himself back or think of anything original and funny with the boy’s attention now fully on him.

“If that’s your version of a lie…” the boy trails off, the end of the cigarette now a burning orange.

Jongho thinks he should be put off by his smoking, but he doesn’t care anymore. Everything the boy touches turns back to normal.

Jongho thinks back to his friendly nudge and closes his eyes, opens them – and the world is right again.

“Who are you?” Jongho asks his face setting into something like suspicion, his voice high with accusation. He knows more than he’s letting on. 

Certainly, Jongho doesn’t spend all Mondays and Fridays standing like a creep in front of Mint Café, the inside back to an aquamarine sea, trying to catch a sight of him. There must’ve been something that drew his attention to Jongho as well. It can’t be all him, can it?

 _The boy, the boy, the boy_. Jongho's mind screams. He looks even more beautiful up close. His features perfect on an already elvish face, his big almond eyes a staple of innocence now narrowed in Jongho’s direction.

“You’re kind of rude,” he says matter of factly. “ _You_ ,” he points with the hand holding the cigarette in Jongho’s direction, “stare at _me_ when you pass by,” he points back at himself, “and frankly,” he takes a deep drag, and says through the smoke: “it’s fucking weird.”

“I’m sorry,” Jongho cringes, realizing he went about this all wrong, and says as much aloud. 

“As if that’s gonna help you, dude,” the boy says. “Try again next time, and maybe don’t stand and stare creepily at me when passing my workplace,” he turns around, about to step back into the café.

“Can I at least know your name?” 

“Next time you order a coffee and I’ll tell you,” he says, and disappears back inside.

🟥

On Friday, Jongho opens his eyes to a muted yellow wasteland.

Everything looks sickly and dead, the boy, as always, is breathtaking.

“Will that be all?” the cashier asks, her hair a mustard color today, and it’s what breaks Jongho from his reverie. 

The boy won’t pay him a look, let alone give him his name as promised, and Jongho debates just asking his coworker to tell him. Jongho is many things though, but a cheater isn’t one of them.

He accepts the paper cup with a few polite words, and leaves; the world still yellow.

He’s trying to connect his AirPods, but for whatever reason, his phone decided to be a little bitch today, and won’t cooperate. 

It’s in the middle of a litany of swear words stuck in his throat that the world turns back to normal.

Jongho feels like he was slapped in the face with how fast it happens, the change reverberates in his blood, sings something loud and heavy.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” the boy asks his delicate fingers around Jongho’s wrist. Jongho immediately blushes, the touch making him shy.

“I, uh, didn’t want to bother you,” he smiles nervously. “You seemed busy is all.”

“Still,” he tilts his head like a puppy, keeps following Jongho, but for now he’s keeping his hands to himself. “You could’ve waited at a table or something.”

Jongho shakes his head, looks at him in wonder and amazement, “Aren’t you on the clock?” 

“I went on a break for you,” he says, fishing for something – cigarettes, Jongho presumes – in his apron pocket again. 

“You didn’t have to do that, I would’ve just come again next Monday.”

“Oh, you would?” he says sarcastically. “You better make it worth my while,” he says, considering Jongho. “Anyways, I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. So,” he pulls out his phone this time and gives it to Jongho.

“Your number,” he says after Jongho just stares at the phone in his hands, “please,” he adds, for good measure, Jongho presumes. 

He’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he quickly types his digits under his name. “Here,” Jongho says and returns his phone.

“So, when I call you I expect you to be ready for a date. I’ll give you an hour heads up, cool?” there’s a cigarette in his hand again, unlit as of yet.

“Okay,” Jongho agrees. “Can I ge – ”

“It’s Yeosang,” the boy says. “My name,” he nods and starts walking backward. “You’ll be late for your class.” 

“Oh, right,” Jongho says, remembering he can’t just stand there and stare at Yeosang forever. Probably. “I’ll see you… Yeosang,” the name rolls off his tongue like it was made for him to say, to call. 

Yeosang waves, the smoke rising around him like eiderdown, and disappears into the crowd.

Jongho forgets that the world was yellow this morning.

🟨

A message comes when Jongho least expects it – at almost 8 pm, the tail end of his classes for the day. The world was bright purple this morning, but the colors have ebbed out some come night.

Yeosang, or rather an unknown number, sends him only an address and time. All lowercase, no emojis, no punctuation.

Jongho has to excuse himself 20 minutes before the class ends, because if he wants to make it on time, and not smell and look like he spent his entire afternoon cooped up in a seminar on the intricacies of music theory in the 19th century, he has to run back to his apartment, and then further south to reach the agreed meeting place.

He sends Hongjoong, his roommate, to please prepare a nice first date-worthy outfit for him, as he sits on the tube waiting for his exit and trying to catch the signal whenever the train stops. He gets an ‘ _alright’_ from Hongjoong accompanied by a selfie of him looking put upon, but Jongho knows he secretly enjoys playing dress-up.

He arrives at the apartment with 20 more minutes to kill, and takes the world’s fastest shower, doesn’t even have time to say hello to Hongjoong who is sitting curled up prettily in his boyfriend’s lap.

“Is this your shirt?” Jongho looks skeptically at the black turtleneck Hongjoong left out for him. It’s a bit too tight and shows off Jongho’s biceps and lean waist. 

“Mhm, no,” Hongjoong says, not elaborating or looking up from whatever they’re both smirking at on the phone. “Where did you say you were going?” he asks, finally looking up.

“Date,” Jongho says, pulling his grey checkered coat on. It’s only the beginning of spring, so it’s still quite cold outside, the last snow still on the grass, the sharp icicles on the roofs have only recently started melting.

“Ohhh,” exclaims Hongjoong at the same time his boyfriend wolf-whistles, and they laugh in a matched tandem. “Who with?” he probes further. 

“What is this? 20 questions?” Jongho shoots back, looking at his reflection in the hallway mirror and passing his hands through his hair to make it someone presentable. He didn’t have time to wash and style it, so pushing it back will have to do the job. “How do I look?” 

“Like a snack,” Seonghwa says, and they both snicker again. “Tiny bit like the Rock in that shirt, but you look good.” 

Jongho laughs good-naturedly, you just can’t get mad at Seonghwa, he’s too nice. “Thanks,” he says, “I guess.”

“Be back before midnight or we’re locking the doors,” Hongjoong yells after him.

“Yes, dad!” Jongho shouts back, before making his way down the stairs, and into the concrete jungle tinged purple.

The snow looked pretty in the morning, now it just looks like gross sludge, and Jongho is careful not to step into it.

He arrives at his destination only to realize it’s literally in the middle of a park. The dusk had settled over the city, and with it brought an indigo darkness. If Jongho squints hard enough at the sky, he can see each individual purple cloud making up a pretty mosaic.

“Boo,” someone behind him breathes into his ear. Jongho’s not easily scared, so he turns to look at the newcomer. 

It’s weird, after seeing Yeosang in his work clothes so many times, to suddenly see him in a long padded coat, and a cute little purple hat perched on his head. He looks uncharacteristically soft, like a sleeping cat.

“Hi Yeosang,” Jongho says, suddenly shy.

“Have you been waiting long?” Yeosang asks, nonperturbed that his little scare didn’t, well, scare Jongho.

“Not really, I just came here a few minutes ago. Where are we going?” 

“I thought we could walk around a bit?” Yeosang says uncertainty laced through his voice. “Or not?” he adds when Jongho looks at him without saying anything. “There’s a supermarket close by, let’s go there first.”

Jongho doesn’t have it in him to find their first date being in a creepy park at night all that weird. He’s had worse: boys who took him to an expensive restaurant and left him to take care of the receipt on his own; girls who somehow managed to rope him into going to rock concerts of groups whose music he’s never even heard of. They weren’t all bad per se, but Jongho has a big heart, and a tendency to go along with anything the other person presents. 

Hongjoong says he’s a dumbass, but Jongho just likes to see the best in people.

Yeosang turns out to be one of those people who feed and befriend all the stray cats they come across, so that’s what they do after buying cat food and treats in the supermarket. 

Later, Jongho takes him to his favorite cafe and patisserie where Yeosang shares that he’s stopped college in his second year, and decided to take a year off for travel and work. One year turned to two, then three, and here he is now.

“Actually,” Yeosang says, leaning over the table to take a bite of Jongho’s chocolate cake, the ganache thick and heavy, “Seonghwa hyung wanted us to meet.”

“Huh?” Jongho asks, not comprehending or connecting what Seonghwa hyung has to do with Yeosang. “How do you know even know him?”

“Oh, we were roommates when I was in uni,” Yeosang says, a small smile on his face. All his mannerisms pointed, and delicate. If they were drinking tea, Yeosang would probably hold his pinky finger up, so elegant in his execution of everyday tasks.

“But, anyways, as I was saying, Seonghwa… he told me about you. I didn’t mean to come out so full of myself,” he laughs awkwardly, “I honestly expected you not to come next time,” he admits.

“I was probably just blinded by your beauty, hyung,” Jongho jokes. 

It seems as if Yeosang has more to say, but bites his tongue, and turns the conversation in the direction of Jongho’s major and free-time activities.

By the end of the date, Jongho is even more enamored with Yeosang than he was all those times before. He wants to forget all about the colors, but they nag at the edge of his thoughts at all times, like tree branches knocking on a window in the middle of a storm. 

_Let us in, Jongho, we won’t hurt._

They say their goodbyes under a moonlit sky, every other street light shining, illuminating only half of Yeosang’s face because of the way they’re turned. With his hand on Yeosang’s neck, and the minuscule voice in his head egging him on, Jongho leans in.

Not running away that Monday was his first mistake, this is his second, and so by kissing Yeosang, he threads the more dangerous waters and hopes for salvation.

🟪

Their first kiss was soft and clumsy, as first kisses usually are, but it burned something fierce in Jongho. Something that still hasn’t stopped smoldering deep inside him, red hot and dangerous.

This time, it’s Jongho who initiates the kissing – for his own peace of mind. Yeosang’s lips tend to that fire, his touches make it grow. 

If the first kiss was innocent, this one is anything but. 

And when Yeosang lowers on his knees, Jongho prays to god to survive this, because he needs to see Yeosang tomorrow and the day after, and forever.

The way Yeosang kisses him after, despite how cheesy it sounds, plants a seed of affection so deep, Jongho might as well already call it love. He's certain this time, it was planted deeply enough to grow roots, to take properly.

They fall into bed in a heap of bones, Jongho first, with Yeosang climbing into his lap never breaking the kiss. 

Yeosang moans once Jongho’s hands have moved from his waist to thighs, so he decides that he’s doing something right, places his hands right underneath his ass, squeezes. Yeosang moans again, more openly, moving to pant into Jongho’s ear.

“Fuck my thighs,” Yeosang says, and Jongho stills his movement, his vision almost escaping him, and blacking out. He squeezes Yeosang’s ass this time, and Yeosang lets out an even louder moan.

“Yeah,” Jongho whispers, unable to put all the gravity his thoughts hold into words. “Yes, please. I want to.” 

Yeosang giggles at his inability to form proper sentences. “You want to?” he asks, racking his hands through Jongho’s red hair, moving it away from his forehead, leaving the most tender kiss on Jongho’s eyelids. Jongho melts.

“Let’s do it then,” Yeosang says, and places Jongho’s destruction into motion. 

He thinks this is it. 

Yeosang is so much more than he thought when they first met, more thoughtful, more lovable, more beautiful. Not only in a physical sense of the word, though that is also true as Yeosang removes each layer of his clothes, just like he showed Jongho all his different sides every time they met over and over again in a colorful explosion of revelation.

Jongho is taken by him, slowly, like breath filling your lungs with clear air. 

Once Yeosang rids them both of clothes, he produces a bottle of lube out of thin air, smears it all over the plush insides of his thighs, pulls on Jongho’s cock a few times for good measure. 

Jongho slots his body behind Yeosang’s, front to back, his cock painfully hard. “Are you sure?” he asks, leaving a myriad of kisses on Yeosang’s shoulder and neck, he can almost reach his cheek if Yeosang were to turn a bit. 

Yeosang nods his head, and Jongho bites him on the closest patch of skin he can find. “I need you to say it out loud.” 

“Jesus, what are you,” Yeosang jokes, “a cannibal?” he turns around to look at Jongho, and Jongho takes the opportunity to leave a kiss on the almost butterfly-but not quite shaped scar on his temple. 

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Jongho pushes into the velvety heat of Yeosang’s thighs, and lets out a long groan – it feels too good to be true. Jongho feels like he’s stealing him away from something greater, more worthwhile. 

After, when they’re both sated and Yeosang is taken care of courtesy of Jongho’s mouth, they lay in bed, Jongho humming Christmas songs while Yeosang tries to guess them. 

“That’s not Last Christmas,” Yeosang says, laughing. 

“Yes, it is,” Jongho tells him, affronted. He knows his Christmas songs, alright. “You have to brush up on your festive song playlists.”

“I’m getting old,” Yeosang says, and stretches in Jongho’s grasp. He hears a few bones pop. 

“Yeah, you are, but I still love you,” Jongho laughs. The confession runs from his mouth before he even notices it, before he manages to swallow it back with an awkward laugh, and an ‘ _I didn’t really mean it_ like that’.

“Fuck off, I’m only a few years older,” he smiles, but Jongho feels the change in his attitude; his body stiffening, his hands retracting from where they were resting on Jongho’s chest. 

“I need to tell you something.”

“Oh,” Jongho sighs, his heart dropping into his gut. “You want to break up?” he tries to alleviate the tension with a half-joke. The joke being that they were never officially together. He’s mostly trying to get on Yeosang’s nerves now, but the way Yeosang sends him a pained, panicked look, has Jongho shutting up right away. 

“I… uh,” Yeosang swallows hard, clears his throat, tries again. “Hmm, I – I don’t like _this_.” he waves vaguely with his hand.

“What do you mean hyung?” Jongho asks, seized with panic, his heart in his throat.

“I just…” Yeosang trails off without turning to look at Jongho, not realizing just how scared and affected he is. “I don’t like some of the things we do?” he says all in one breath.

 _Jesus_ , Jongho thinks, _this can’t be happening_. “Like what? Please tell me you didn’t just have sex with me out of some weird sense of obligation or something.” he pleads, his voice dropping high with concern, he’s scared to even touch Yeosang in fear of making everything that much worse.

It takes Yeosang a minute to catch up to what Jongho is asking him, and in that time Jongho’s heart threatens to escape the confines of his ribcage. 

He turns on his back and takes in the shaking leaf that is Jongho. “I didn’t mean …sex,” he says, placing his hand on Jongho’s bicep in comfort. “What we did was consensual, if you ever do anything I don’t want you to, I’d fucking kill you,” Yeosang says, and the glint in his eyes shows that he means it. 

“Not that I think you’d ever do anything like that,” Yeosang huffs, “you’re just a big teddy bear,” he jokes.

“I wouldn’t ever dream of crossing your boundaries, hyung, and if I ever do anything against your will, you’re allowed to cut my dick off, I promise,” Jongho says, with all the pure white sincerity he can muster. “I’d give you the knife.”

Yeosang’s whole body shakes with a rumbling laugh. “Don’t be dramatic,” he caresses Jongho’s face, pushes his ready fluffy hair off his forehead. “That’s not what I was talking about, though, I _like_ sex. Sometimes I think I like it a little bit too much,” Yeosang admits in a small voice. “I just don’t like everything else that comes with it.”

“Oh,” Jongho murmurs, none of his anxieties quelled. “You mean… you don’t like me? You don’t have emotions for me?” Jongho would be pretty bummed if that were true, but he’d let him go, respect his wishes. 

“I like you fine, Jongho. I like being with you, and I like spending time with you, but…” he chokes and clears his throat.

“But?” Jongho prompts. He puts his arms around Yeosang, and Yeosang lays his head on Jongho’s naked shoulder; his wet breaths tickling Jongho’s neck.

“I just don’t _love_ people?” he says it with an uncertainty that shouldn’t be there when sharing something quite so personal. “I mean… I’ve never been in love with anyone, and I don’t think I ever will be, but I like you Jongho, I think I could spend a considerable amount of time with you… If you let me.”

“What does that mean?” Jongho asks. “For us?” he clarifies. “Do you want to just stay friends?” 

“No, I…” Yeosang cracks his knuckles, scratches his arm in upset. “Why is this so hard to explain?” he asks himself. 

“Take your time,” Jongho says, rubbing up and down the red lines Yeosang just left on his own arm. 

“Um,” he bites his upper lip, sucks on it for some time. Long enough for Jongho to see the indents his sharp teeth have left in them. “I don’t _form_ romantic attachments to other people,” he explains. “It’s hard for me to explain since I don’t understand it all that well myself,” he admits in a small voice, “but… but towards certain people sometimes I feel different. I don’t think it’s love, but I think it could maybe be companionship.” 

It must be hard. It must be so fucking hard not to know yourself completely. Not to understand the things you’re going through, the things you feel, and want. Jongho thinks he is so, so god damn brave.

“Are you trying to say you’re aromantic?” Jongho prods further.

“Does that put you off?” Yeosang asks, rising up on his elbows so that he can gauge Jongho’s expression. “That I’m incapable of love… as you know it at least.”

“Of course not, hyung. I love you the way that you are.” Jongho admits in a quiet voice. 

“Oh,” Yeosang gasps like he wasn’t expecting Jongho to say something of that caliber. “No one’s ever said that to me.”

“Oh, hyung,” Jongho says with pity, kissing his shoulder and cheek and forehead in comfort. He tugs at Yeosang’s stylish white hair, now gone slightly yellow with time, and Yeosang places his head next to Jongho’s on the pillow.

“My partners, they…” he swallows and closes his eyes briefly, and once he opens them, they’re as clear as a summer’s day, “they’d usually leave after I tell them I’m aromantic. It’s weird, you know. You’d expect that they’d value my body more, but they’d only tell me that ‘I’ll find the one’ and leave. I was so tired of that,” he laughs self-deprecatory.

“Who the fuck even is this elusive The One?” they both laugh, Yeosang more so he doesn’t cry, his eyes filled with unshed pearlescent tears. 

For Jongho, pain creates something beautiful. He could catch each and every tear that falls down that beautiful, perfect face, and link them into a necklace, wear it proudly. 

“Yeosangie,” Jongho murmurs before Yeosang can burst into tears, “I love you now, but I don’t know what the future holds. I’m glad you spared me that one moment, in the beginning, to explain myself, because I had a completely different idea of who you would be, and I still fell in love. Your being aromantic doesn’t change that, and it won’t. Ever. For what it’s worth I think all your past partners suck, and if you want me to go beat them up I will,” Jongho jokes, but also not. 

At this point, he’d probably do anything for Yeosang. He’s waded too deep into the sea, and only now he remembered he doesn’t really know how to swim.

“No, you idiot,” Yeosang snorts through tears. Jongho hears him whisper something about being gross, but he just thinks he’s being human.

Jongho’s world used to be pink and yellow, and sometimes even purple, but meeting Yeosang gave him another chance to look at life. Look at it through a different lens – his world a constant filled with color, his emotions unlocked, the world full of opportunity.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/yoongsicle)   
>  [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/immortalflowers)


End file.
